I almost forgot this existed. Just as I have forgotten myself in the mundane never changing, but always expanding life. My newborn is now almost 3 years old. In only another week. Really not sure how that happened. My anxiety is better. Depression is somewhat better. Both of those were replaced with a short fuse. It doesn’t take much for me to tear my sons head off for any little thing. Then, I feel like the biggest asshole. He has started saying “i’m sorry you’re made, mommy”. Melts my heart every time, but it doesn’t seem to sink in until I do it again. It’s nothing major. It’s the repeating myself for him to do something about 10 times and on the 11 attempt it comes out as a loud and stern voice….maybe a yell. I hate it. I had that as a child from my sperm donor, and promised I would never raise my voice. Maybe it’s in the DNA and I can’t get around it. I’m hoping that finding an outlet for my frustrations will help make me a little calmer and patient with him. Time will tell.
As my son is becoming more and more independent, my anxiety has gone through the roof. As we are able to remove baby gates, because the house is now more baby proof since we prepare to move. I keep picturing that I walk into a room and something has fallen on top of him. Only seeing his tiny feet and nothing else. I can see it so clearly in my head, as if it was right in front of my face. I hate these thoughts, and I try to shake them away. Part of me thinks that maybe these are premonitions of things to come, and then I become even more anxious. I would absolutely die if anything were to happen to my son, especially an accident that I could prevent.
My husband is always telling me that worry does nothing, but easier said than done. I wish I could make it go away as easily as it comes. I’ve always been wired for worry, and it’s only becoming worse since becoming a mom. I really don’t want to be a helicopter mom, and I try to rationalize away the worry. I’m afraid that I’m going to do so at the wrong time and something will happen.
I’m so tired of having anxiety cripple me. It really impacts my life in so many ways.
They aren’t always what they seem, and rarely ever are. The world is always so connected. The lives portrayed are utter bullshit. I’m guilty. So is like everyone. We all have perfect lives with perfect families. Except for those that over dramatize and have horrible lives where nothing goes right, and everything is always wrong. Those people make me appreciate my life, even though I know they are attention seeking and lying behind their computer or phone screens.
Are these little white lies, or something more? Who even really cares. I don’t intentionally, but I guess I still come across as a cookie cutter wife and new mom. That is, unless people are just trying to be nice.
I always get the “you look so beyond happy”, ” you have an amazing life”, etc, etc. Don’t get me wrong. Overall, I love my life, but it’s far from perfect. Sure, I post pictures of my little family. I post about what I’m proud of at the moment. Who wants a Debbie Downer…all the time? I don’t think the life I portray is overly happy.
I do good to keep it together every day. I get maybe 5 hours, if that, of very interrupted sleep every day. My boobs currently have me as prisoner to my babes mouth. My husband is supposed to be managing the house, taking care of our son during the day time, and pulling his own weight. Not happening. I used to wonder how people that seemed so happy as a married couple for years prior to having kids could end up divorced shortly after. No, man, I see it now. It ain’t easy and definitely not for the faint of heart. My husband was way too pissy with me tonight just because I wanted to “fix” whatever was upsetting our 4.5 month old. Obviously he wasnt getting he job done and it was mere moments after he scared the shit out of the kid…not sure you’re the one to soothe him, dude! I literally couldn’t take it anymore. The babe screaming so hard that you would think he was being tortured. So hard that I’m not sure how he managed to effing breathe. So, I’m sorry I couldn’t take it anymore and I had to step in, but that does not mean that I want him in our bed still when he is six years old. I mean, keep it up and he might as well be because your sure as hell not. Surprise, surprise…the minute he threw my boy into my arms a hush fell over him. I managed to calm him down enough that within 10 minutes I had coos and smiles and even managed to read a book. But, no, I guess I should have just lazed to the side and ignored him.
If that sounds like a perfect, very happy, life…you got me. You called it for sure. If not…appearances lie. But, I do love my babe. And I love how we have figured each other out in 20 short weeks…even that is far from perfect.
The first month. Let’s be honest. It was a blur that never wanted to end. I cried when my mom and grandma went home. It was hard for them to leave anwyay, but I was also fed while they were with us. My appetite still to this day hasn’t really found its way back. Which is fine. I’m not losing much weight anyway. I’m down almost 50 pounds, but still feel like I have a long way to go. Babe only weighed 7 pounds .04 ounces and by the time I got home from the hospital I had only lost 10 of the 65 that had been packed on during the pregnancy.
We had his two week appointment and all was good. I got used to breastfeeding. We had a couple outings in his first two weeks while my mom and grandma were visiting. We did the outlet mall experience and dinner out one night.
The second month seemed pretty uneventful too. I mean he grew, slept, ate and pooped. That’s about it. He started smiling and it made all the sleepless nights worth it. Honestly he pretty much always had his days and nights straight, but I can never just sleep when he sleeps.
Sometime in the second month the PPD hit me like a ton of bricks. It first reared its head in the form of loneliness…in a way. My family and friends all live far from me and hub has most of his fairly close. It became very hard to see multiple people, or have them visit us, to meet babe. Other than my mom, grandma and step dad, I didn’t have anybody to visit or vice versa. It became very clear what I was up against. I saw the clear separation in family for once since we were married and this should be a time of more unity. The week I realized I was having PPD issues I made an appointment and went on meds.
Well, not long after that the crazies started. I switched meds. And here I am a zombie that doesn’t know what the eff she does in her sleep. I think it’s getting better. I hope. I have the breastfeeding figured out, which had helped A LOT. I love my son more than I could have ever imagined.
Right now there isn’t much that comes to mind in my sleepiness confusion that I have at oh, 8:30. I’ll update later when I can make more sense of things.
I guess my baby brain made me forget this blog ever existed. The last post was during my tenth week of pregnancy and BB is now one month old. I guess I’ll need to give the real cliffs notes for this post.
We had our Anatomy scan on May 5th and everything looked great. My mom was told the gender, and we kept it sealed in an envelope. Hubby knew I was dying to know even though we discussed the reveal wouldn’t be until the end of June. On Mothers Day he had a cake made with the icing inside revealing the gender. We found out we were expecting a baby boy. Ultimately we decided to use his initials, RCB, and announce the name at birth.
Overall, the pregnancy was uneventful. I had the nausea and fatigue for the first trimester. The fatigue decided to stick around for most of the pregnancy, but definitely not as bad as the first trimester.
I failed the glucose test and then had to do the three hour. I barely passed that and was told to limit carbs so that I wouldn’t have a huge baby with big ass shoulders. I tried to limit those carbs, I really did. I was somewhat successful at first. Baby wants what baby wants though. My carb, starch, and sweet addiction resulted in a weight gain of a whopping 65 pounds. Yep, 65!! I’m one month out and only halfway back to pre-pregnancy weight.
Probably from the bad eating habits and weight gain came the borderline preeclampsia. It wasn’t until the final weeks that my doctor was somewhat concerned. My urine test came back fine, but I still had high blood pressure and swollen feet. The blood pressure stayed right on the edge of concern. In the last weeks we discussed an induction date because of these issues. The induction was scheduled for September 14th, just a few days before my 16th due date.
My mom and grandma had flights booked to arrive on September 8th. About 6 weeks, maybe less, before my due date we asked the doctor when she would buy a ticket. She said around the 10th. We kept them updated and let them know when the induction was scheduled. My mom was going to push back her arrival since it didn’t sound like I would go into labor early.
I joked around about going into labor on Labor Day. I had my first contractions the day before. I had even more on Labor Day. I was afraid I jinxed myself. My mom and grandma were to arrive the next day. The contractions didnt last long and were very subtle. I was wrong. Thankfully!
They arrived at the Austin airport early on the 8th. Hubs picked them up and left me sleeping. He was worried I would go into labor while he was en route. He almost had me stay at his gmas in case I did, since neighbors could help me and she is closer to the hospital. Since I wasn’t having contractions before be left he wasn’t too worried.
By the time they got back to Temple from Austin it was after 10. We went to lunch and then I had chiropractor and OB appointments later that afternoon. At my OB appointment I had not progressed much since the previous week, which was really only 5 days since the last appointment. She said she would be seeing us on the 14th. We did talk about ways that I could trigger labor. She stripped my membranes, but remained confident nothing would happen before the 14th. She also said that I was so constipated that BB was probably staying put until that was resolved. We discussed a Miralax cleanse, which should solve that problem.
The night went by uneventful. I did my cleanse and went for a walk with my mom. Fast forward to about midnight when I was finally getting into bed… I swear, the minute I laid down I started to have minor contractions. I waited for them to stop like they had the previous two days. They didn’t. I slept through some of the earlier ones, but around 2:30 they became so intense that I started tracking them with an app on my phone. They kept getting stronger, longer and closer together (as was the mantra in childbirth class). They were horrible!! And, about the time they started to become more intense, the cleanse kicked in too. I started to think that maybe it was poop pains and went back and forth in my head between labor and poop pains.
Meanwhile, hubs appeared to be sleeping soundly. I wasn’t sure how between my trips to the bathroom and moaning and groaning through contractions. This continues through the night. I watched my tracker to see the contractions becoming less than 5 minutes apart and lasting for a minute or longer each time. I waited as long as I could until a decent time of morning. Around 7 I found my mom and told her I thought it was time. Going back and forth about whether we should go to the hospital or not, I finally said it was time.
I got hubs up and I did all I could to get dressed. He got the car loaded and we were off to the hospital. By this point walking triggered horrible contractions. When we arrived I had him get me a wheelchair. We then went up to be checked in and wait for what seemed like forever for triage. There was a couple waiting to be monitored for something and she was pretty far along. I am sure I gave her a nasty glimpse into her future. There were a few times that I snapped at poor hubs for coddling me too much. I told him that was one thing that would set me off, but he didn’t listen.
Once I made the decision to go to L&D, I grew very impatient. I was in a major hurry. I think mostly for the pain medication. I remember thinking if I wasn’t far enough along they were going to have to keep me anyway, or at least give me something for the pain. The contractions were killer. They almost had me in tears.
Finally we were called back to triage. We were back there forever and 30 minutes. They finally checked me and I had gone from 1cm and 50% at 4ish PM on the 8th to 5cm and 90%-complete at 8 AM on the 9th. I knew before we arrived that it was most likely go time, but the reality didn’t hit me until they asked us if we were ready to have a baby. O! M! G! It was happening!!
Our OB had told us she was leaving that morning and that she would be gone the rest of the week. Hub’s godfather had agreed early on to be in the delivery room for us as support for hub. It just so happened that he was covering for our doctor and he was already at the hospital when we arrived. It was a little sad my OB wasn’t there. I had been a patient of hers for awhile and worked through possible infertility issues. We even met with her together more than once before we were pregnant to discuss various things. It was great that we already had the godfather as backup though.
We finally were pulled back to the room where I would labor and ultimately deliver. I had already asked for pain meds more than once. Throughout the pregnancy I had my mind made up that I just wanted to do IV pain meds because the epidural scared me so much. I finally had my IV hooked up and they started Fentanyl, after what seemed like forever. That did absolutely nothing to help my contractions, but did help me relax just a little. I asked how long it would take to have some relief and was told I already should. I quickly made the decision that I needed the epidural, and I’m so glad that I did. I didn’t want one mostly for two reasons, I wanted to have the ability to walk if I wanted and I didn’t want a catheter. Well, walking wasn’t going to happen because that triggered more contractions and I could suck it up with the catheter. The epidural is God’s gift to women for going through such a painful ordeal as birth. I was afraid it wasn’t going to work because it wasn’t instant, but was told it could take 15 minutes. Well, they weren’t lying. That stuff had me comfortably numb. No more contractions were felt. It was about 12:30 when they gave me the epidural. After 12 hours of contractions, I was ready for a break.
At some point shortly after the epidural they checked me and I was a 7. I know they broke my water and started Pitocin, but I can’t remember what order that happened. I didn’t feel either, so all was good.
My mom and grandma came back, but didn’t stay too long. They had been in the waiting room the whole time until everything was good for them to come back. I had my labor soundtrack going on the iPad, an essential oil going that had been passed down through several mommas to help progress labor/good luck, and didn’t feel a damn thing. Life was good.
After awhile the nurses came in to move me on my side. Apparently BB didn’t like the Pitocin and his heart rate would do crazy things with contractions. After they adjusted me from side to side a few times they decided to check me to see if I had progressed any further. They weren’t going to be checking me again for awhile, but decided he would need to come out soon. I was a ten and complete. Push time! All kinds of activity started happening and they told me how the pushing would work. I had no idea I would only push with contractions. The nurse would have me hold my breathe at the start of contractions for ten counts while pushing and repeat three times. After several pushes the godfather told me we weren’t making much progress. Apparently when I hurt my tailbone in 2008 it bent back the opposite direction which acted as a speed bump. We did several pushes and then the decision was made to use forceps. He even tried to break my tailbone, but it wouldn’t give. The forceps were used and in one contraction he was out and on my chest. A healthy, beautiful baby boy.
I had my skin to skin time as they stitched me up. Eventually they had to take him to do all of his vitals and shots, etc. Hubs and I finally discussed the name. We were still down to four names and we weren’t sure, but we brought the list. We decided he looked more like one than the others..and so there it was.
And then zombie mom brain made me forget I even started this post and fast forward another two months.
So, the rest of the hospital stay was fairly uneventful. We were eventually moved from the L&D room to one in post partum. On the way to the room where we would finish recovering for the next couple days, we pushed the button that made a little chime ring throughout the hospital that indicated a birth had occurred.
The rest of that night was a blur and I was finally ready to just pass out. My mom brought us dinner and I was finally able to eat at around 10PM.
The next day babe had his newborn pictures taken and hearing test in the morning. Then came the dreaded circumcision. He had some minor bleeding complications which required a stay in the nursery for observation.
The nurses would bring him to me when it was time to nurse. We had an awesome nurse in the daytime, but the night brought an awful nurse who hubs so lovingly named ” Broom Hilda”. She was not great. She didn’t knock on the door before entering and once I noticed a pacifier in his bassinet. We clearly stated we weren’t doing pacifiers yet and breastfed only. I understood he was going through a traumatic experience and needed to be pacified when I wasn’t present. However, they should have checked with me before giving him the pacifier.
So, of course I had some problems with him latching because of the nipple confusion caused by them giving him a pacifier. That brought on the tip of the iceberg. Instead of letting me deal with it, Broom Hilda hovered. We just needed some extra time and would have figured it out because we eventually did. She decided to show me a “trick”. She came back during one of the late night feedings and put a syringe in his mouth that had formula in it so that he could get a little taste. Oh, hell no! Lactation had already showed me the same trick to do with breastmilk. We then kept him in the room with us and she was banned from our room. He slept on my chest that night.
The next day we were discharged after telling lactation, our day nurse and pediatrician about our experience with her.
And then, we were on our own…plus my mom and grandma for a week.
The fatigue and nausea have been pretty consistent. I would say that if I could live in bed I’d be great. For the most part I am. However, with sleepsleep comes some pretty crazy dreams.
I swear. I’m dreaming babies like crazy. Several with twins. Several with big babies. Not only that, just really realistic and bizarre dreams that I can’t quite remember.
We had an appointment with our OB on Wednesday. We were bumped back up to 10 weeks!! Yes! Even a day closer to the second trimester makes me a happy camper. Now I’m like almost a week closer. It seems we might be dealing with a big head though.
Weight gain is real. I still just feel fat and not pregnant. I’m waiting for that real bump to form. BB looks good though and that’s all that matters. Now if September would just get here. Like pronto!
I guess little b is finished swimming. I, on the other hand, am doing all I can to stay afloat.
Not much has changed. Nausea. Fatigue. Blah. Just blah. I had to cancel plans more than once for the big blah.
Keeping my mouth shut for five days was not easy. A part of being pregnant is the need for empathy, or maybe sympathy. I think. You want to complain about how much you feel like death to get at least a look of “imsosorryiwishicouldmakeitbetterforyou”. Listening to the rantings of someone twice as pregnant and now into the “I don’t feel as much like shit” zone is like life in hell if you can’t bitch right along.
I’m now wallowing in my own self pity. About to dig into a gallon of ice cream. I’m ready for the second trimester like yesterday. They say you should only gain a couple pounds in the first trimester. I feel like I’ve gained ten. This is not a competition.
Spending the morning with my head in the toilet was not how I had planned on spending the dawn of my 7th week. Ugh! If this is what I have to look forward to this week, I can’t wait til next Monday!
Have I mentioned that I feel like hammered crap? All the time!!! Yesterday we decided to drive three hours with three dogs in the car. That was not the best idea. I knew it would be bad. Between one dog farting and another licking his balls.
I will be spending the better part of the week with another pregnant woman. She has about two months and a whole other kid up on me. While getting pedicures yesterday and munching on pizza, I couldn’t utter a word about my preggo self. I just have to look like I’ve gained a couple pounds and eat like it’s going out of style. I would love nothing more than to confide in a fellow baby mama, but not so. I have to hold out til the middle of March. Ugh!!!
Its only been two weeks, but it sure feels like a lifetime. Two weeks ago I was three days late and decided to get a home pregnancy test on my way home from a work trip in Dallas. I didn’t feel pregnant, but we had been trying for two months and curiosity killed the cat.
I had already bought a cute little shirt weeks ago that I would give to hubby to announce the positive to him. Really something a guy would pick out for himself. A ref with his hands up that simply stated “TOUCHDOWN”, but it was the addition of the egg and sperm together at last above the ref that made the shirt.
So, I bought the test about one hour from home so I wouldn’t run into anybody at the store. I waited for the hour drive til I reached the comfort of my pristine bathroom to do the deed. I bought one of those test that is digital and also tells you time from conception. I wanted to know when that sucker took.
I swear it wasn’t thirty seconds before “pregnant” flashed in front of my puzzled eyes. I mean, we had only been trying for two months and I knew it would take at least a year. The little clock thing was still working so I thought maybe “not” would pop up before “pregnant”. A few seconds later it showed me that the sucker took ” 2-3 weeks” ago.
What?!!! I’m pregnant?!!! I said things like that and “there’s a baby in there?!!!” around 100 times in only two minutes. I got out my baby making calendar and figured that it happened on December 26th or 31st. I smirked as I remembered my NYE and what had transpired. A great guy story of how their first child was conceived for sure. Let’s just say some hot water was involved.
I hurried as fast as I could to get my stuff together for the weekend. We were going to be staying the weekend with his grandmother and he was already there. I had to return my rental car about a mile from her house and decided to walk instead of having him pick me up. I didn’t want him to even have a chance to suspect anything. I wanted it to slap him upside the face what his little fockers did to me.
When I got to the house he was nowhere to be seen. I crept through the back of the house to the bedrooms. I met him in the hallway as he was coming out of a room. I told him I had a shirt for him. After looking at it for a good hour (it seemed) he responded with “really?!!!” I showed him the test and told him I saved the second obligatory confirmation test to do together. We decided to save that for first thing the next morning. So, lots of lovey dove usual response to a planned pregnancy and that was that. We were officially PREGGO!!
Fast forward a bit to the 21st. It was my moms birthday (the big 5-oh!) so we had planned to spend the day with her. It was such perfect timing that we had to announce our news to her…even though we always said we wouldn’t announce to anybody until we reached the second trimester.
I made a shirt that said human growing with pink leopard print iron-on letters and a blingy down arrow. Hubby was going to wear his shirt. We bought a baby on board sign. We announced as we were loading the car to go to her birthday lunch. Almost missed the point when she read the sign as having my dogs name and thought it was for him.
Then, we announced to the grandmother when we picked her up. It took her longer than it should have to notice the shirts. She screeched like an owl…no shit.
The step-dad didn’t find out until later that night and his was quite anti-climatic. To date they are the only family we have told and we are planning something big to announce it when we get to the safe zone.
I finally had my confirmation OB appointment three days ago. I was going to start this blog then, but well now I have an excuse for not always being so timely.
The appointment showed I was 6 weeks and 2 days with due date of 9/21. Yep, I confirmed with the OB that we most likely conceived on NYE.
After awkward questions that I had from “does he need to wear a condom now?” (I think the answer was something like if I was afraid he had an STD) to the boring “what can I take for nausea?” we were done and one step closer to parenthood.
Now, I’m caught up to speed. In a cliffs notes kinda way that was the last two weeks.
Tonight my brother called out of the blue. He has two kids. If you didn’t already guess, this little bean is my first. Well, they are pregnant and due three days after me. What the freaking hell?! Way to rain on my pregnancy parade. I obviously didn’t tell him our news, but I did find out that my mom already knew about his the day we announced ours to her. I won’t be doing a double baby shower. Hell to the big fat no! And, I will be. I already feel like I’ve gained 50 pounds. Only 33 and some days to go.